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Gopyright}J°-J^M. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



DAY DREAMS 

By 

CARRIE R. MINKLER 



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Copyrighted by 

Carrie R. Minklkr 

October, 1')()'» 



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INDEX 

PAGE. 

The Harbor Bar 11 

By the Sea 13 

Life 15 

Fear Not 18 

Fragment 19 

Memory 19 

The Lovers 0\^er the Way 21 

Dropping- Out of Sight 23 

The Ragged Coat 25 

The King's Daughters . .- 27 

The Old Looking Glass 28 

In the West 30 

W^atching the Old Year Out 33 

Life's Problems 35 

Divorced 37 

The Bal Masque 39 

If 41 

A Retrospect 43 

By and By 45 

May 47 

Air Castles 48 

How Long? 50 

Wdiat the W^ind Said 51 

The LTnbidden Guest 53 

The Old House 54 

Fragment 58 

An Old Maid's Story 59 

L^p and Down 61 

The Folks in the Corner House 63 



INOEX— Contii^ued. 

PAGE. 

Fairy Bells 66 

The Old Settlers' Reunion 68 

Doubt Not 71 

Our Church Workers 7?) 

Day Dreams 74 

Over the Way 76 

October 78 

Pictures in the Coals 80 

The Land of Nod 82 

Weeds 83 

The Flag- We Made 85 

The Soldiers' Re-Union 88 

Story of the Tramp 91 





"We have weathered the storm," the captain said, 

"I can see the harbor hght. 
And those tossing- waves point out the l)ar, 

We shall sleep at home to-night." 
And the seamen smiled at the captain's words 

And thought of their firesides warm. 
And the waiting wives on the nearing shore. 

That haven from wind and storm. 
But the sun sank down in angry clouds. 

And never a gleaming star 
Shone through the fog, wdiile mountain high 

Rolled the waves on the harbor l)ar. 

None heard the shrieks from drowning li])s, 

O'er the breakers awful roar, 
But the longing eyes on the shtM'e shall see 

The good ship never more; 
And ne\'er a dead face floated up 

On the ocean's heavy swell. 
For the treacherous sand of the harbc^r bar 

Holdeth its secrets well. 
Not a soul' was saved the sad, sad news 

To carry to friends afar. 
Some bits of wreck, and the tale was told — 

"Gone down on the harbor bar." 



Day Dreams 

" We are almost there," the fisherman cried, 

*'And we shall be glad, my men, 
To ride in the harbor snug and safe, 

Away from the storms again !" 
And the fisherman smiled at his happy luck. 

And counted his treasures o'er, 
And thousiht of the warm hearts waitins: now 

To welcome him back to shore. 
God help the fishermen ! seamen bold, 

For the winds blow wild and far, 
And between the boat and the lights of home. 

Break the waves on the harbor bar. 

And the days shall pass and storms shall sweep. 

But never, ah, never more. 
In the harbor snug and the harbor safe 

Shall the fisher-boat touch the shore; 
For the waves toss high and fog-horns blow. 

And never a pitying star 
Looks down to weep o'er the awful fate — 

" Capsized on the harbor bar." 

Alas! for the ships with snowy sails 

That have skimmed the ocean o'er. 
And the steamers with precious human freight 

That have braved the breakers' roar. 
To sink in the sight of home and hope, 

AMiile winds blow wild and far, 
And mountain waves shriek out the tale — 

" \\'recked on the harbor bar." 
12 



Da\ D 



reams 



Alas ! for the wives that weep alone 

In the desolated home. 
And the eyes that are dim from watching long 

For the ships that never come. 
Ah ! when the sea gives up its dead 

At the sound of the trump afar, 
Many a loyal heart and true 

Will rise from the harbor bar. 



BY THE SEA. 

Blow, winds, blow, 
And hasten the good ship that's coming, I know, 
With the true heart on board that will claim me his bride, 
Wlien the morrow shall dawn in its splendor and pride; 
The black night is coming, the wild weaves grow rough. 
But I've builded a beacon fire high on the bluff. 
To guide them safe into the haven below. 
And by this time the staunch ship has anchored, I know. 

Beat, waves, beat, 
Ye cannot affright me with storm nor with sleet, 
Since I know that my sailor is safe on the shore. 
With flying feet hastening to greet me once more. 
The black night is coming. O ! hasten, my love, 
Ere the storm blots the stars from their watching above. 

13 



Day Dreams 

Moan, winds, moan. 
My darling is coming, I fear not your tone. 
For in all the wide world there is nothing so sweet, 
As for hearts that love truly and fondly to meet. 
We are done now forever with parting and pain ; 
No dark waves can roll 'twixt our two hearts again. 

Sob, waves, sob. 
If ye take not my true love, ye never can rob 
My heart of its joy, nor darken with gloom — 
Hark! the sound that I hear — is it thunder? — the boom 
Idiat comes with its solemn sound over the sea? 
I hear it again and again — can it be? — 
Just heavens ! hear the shouting, the good ship is lost ! 
Lashed by the waves, by the wild tempest tossed. 

Blow, winds, blow. 
Ye can do no more harm on the wide earth, I know. 
Blow out the beacon fire, 'twas builded in vain — 
Scatter the embers o'er sea and o'er plain — 
Idiere is nothing on earth that is worth while to save 
Since he has gone down in the gloom of the grave. 



Hasten, O night, 
Spread thy dark mantle o'er all that is bright, 
Blot out the town with its great blinking eyes 
That are daring to shine while my dead darling lies 
In the loathsome embrace of the treacherous sea, 
Wdiose wild waves are waiting and beckoning to me. 

14 



Day Dreams 

Hide, stars, hide. 
Thy pitiless stare from the desolate bride ; 
Brazen moon, hide from sight thy merciless face. 
That saw when he sank to the deadly embrace; 
That saw and yet made no effort to save 
When the good ship sank down to a watery grave. 

Nevermore 
Shall I wait for my love by the solemn seashore ; 
Nevermore — ah, heaven ! that footstep I hear ! 
Can the sea yield its dead? Ah, the anguish and fear 
Fly quickly away at the sound of his voice! 
He is safe! he has come! and my heart may rejoice. 

Blow, winds, blow. 
With a g'entle caress for the waves as you go ; 
Bright stars look upon us with beauty and pride ; 
The earth is so pleasant with him by my side. 
Fair moon, veil no longer your face from our sight. 
For tempest nor storm can dim the fair night. 



LIFE. 

Like a tireless river flowing 
On towards the broad sea going, 
Sweeping over bush and pebble. 
Chanting its melodious treble — 

15 



Day Dreams 

Growing- deeper, stronger, colder, 
Leaping over rock and l^oulder, — 
Pausing not and never resting, 
Time and tide nnfearing, breasting, 
Flecks of foam its bosom cresting, 
Sucb is life. 

Like a ship with white sails spreading 
Mountain waves with proud keel treading 
On towards the harbor sweeping, 
O'er the dancing billows leaping, 
While afar the breakers roaring 
Where the sullen waters pouring, 
Strive in vain their power of wrecking. 
Still aloft the proud flag decking- 
Waves above the white foam flecking, 
Such is life. 

So I sang in life's bright morning, 
Rainbow tints the sky adorning; 
Ah ! how strange, the slow years creeping, 
Nothing brought but pain and weeping. 
Vain regret and vainest sorrow 
And a dread of each to-morrow ; 
Like a tiresome sullen river 
On whose banks the rushes shiver, 
And the tall dank grasses quiver. 
Such is life. 

16 



Day Dreams 

Like a ship with no one steering. 
Swift the dreaded breakers nearing. 
Rudder gone and torn sails flapping. 
And the hungry waters lapping — 
Silent, swift the white foam creeping 
While each soul on board is sleeping, 
Such is life when love in leaving 
Nothing left but hopeless grieving 
And a soul of unbelieving, 
Such is life. 

Life is lost when love has missed it. 
Sorrow's pallid lips have kissed it, 
And it knows the whole of trouble; 
Hope is vain and darkness double; 
Without love its blessing giving 
Life, so little worth the living 
Stretcheth out in desert fashion 
Haunted by the ghosts of passion. 
Mocked by mirage, torn by doubting, 
Hope of peace hereafter scouting; 
Life is lost when love in leaving 
Nothing left but vainest grieving 
And a soul of unbelieving, 
Such is life. 



17 



Day Dreams 
FEAR NOT. 

I was an hungered, and none could give, 
That my fainting soul might eat and hve ; 
I was athirst, and church nor creed, 
Could reach the source of my spirit's need ; 

When lo! from on high, 
God's sunlight pierced through the shadows dread, 
And my soul with the bread of life was fed; 

And w^aters of peace flowed by. 

I was affrighted ; the night was dark, 
And billow^s were raging around my bark; 
Drifting afar from the peaceful shore, 
I could hear the breakers' sullen roar; 

When lo ! from on high, 
God's sunlight pierced through the clouds at will 
And a small voice whispered : ''Peace ; be still" ; 

And the tempest passed me by. 

Ah ! soul fear not ; no harm can befall, 
For one there is who reigneth o'er all, 
Who holdeth the waves in his gentle hand. 
And the winds obey his mild command; 

And lo! from on high, 
His sunlight can pierce through the darkest gloom, 
And lighten the shadows around the tomb, 
And hasten the tempest by. 



18 



Day Dreams 
FRAGMENT. 

-When the morn with dewy hngers, 
Sweeps aside the vail of night. 
And wnth rosy bUishes beaming. 

First appears upon our sight — 
Peeping o'er the eastern hih-tops. 

Starry ranks retreat before. 
And the earth, with new-born glory 

Wakes to busy life once more. 
But far brighter than the morning 

Are my darling's starry eyes. 
And the song birds in the thicket 

Whistle notes of soft surprise 
When her morning carol ringing 

Wakes the echoes in the skies. 



ME]\IORY. 

The happiest songs are ringing 

To-day through memory's halls. 
And beautiful pictures gleaming 

Again from the darkened \valls ; 
The sunlight, with magic fingers, 

Has brushed from each pictured face. 
The dust of the weary summers 

That had hidden their wondrous grace. 

19 



Day Dreams 

And again in their olden beauty 

They gleam on my longing sight, 
And the weary years flow backward, 

Like the flow of a summer night ; 
And I see a low roofed cottage 

That stands by a silver stream, 
And watch for the tiny fishes 

That under the waters gleam. 

And I see a fair haired maiden, 

Alone at the lattice bars, 
\Wi\\ cheeks like the blush of roses, 

And eyes like the summer stars ; 
And the music of childish laughter 

On the Sabbath stillness swells, 
And sounds to the waiting maiden 

Like the tinkle of fairy bells. 

And I reach my arms to clasp her. 

The maid with the starry eyes, 
But again the vision fadeth, 

Like a dream of paradise ; 
And the old, old pain comes o'er me, 

When I see, in the years now flown, 
The maiden with sunny tresses 

To a stately matron grown. 

For not in my home she reigneth. 
And a touch of the olden pain 

Comes back as the vision fadeth. 
And naught but the clouds remain; 

20 



Day Dreams 

Tis only the old, old story 
Told over a thousand fold ; 

The heart that I deemed as faithful 
Was bought by another's gold. 

I rise from my dreaming sadly. 

With a sigh for the heart untrue. 
And wonder if from faith's ashes 

Hope ever can rise anew ; 
Ah ! yes, for the hand all healing. 

That hath darkened memory's halls, 
And hidden the fairy pictures 

That hang on the crumbling walls, 
Can hasten the wondrous healing. 

And sooth from my heart the pain, 
And make the desert blossom 

Like the fairest rose again. 



THE LOVERS OVER THE WAY. 

I watch the lovers over the way 

Till my own sad heart grows young and gay ; 

They sit each night in the window seat 

When no one has thought to lower the blind, 
A picture of love and trust complete 

Which they in their happiness do not mind, 
Unheeding the fact that curious eyes 
Are watching them now with sweet surprise. 

21 



Day Dreams 

The lovers over the way are fair. 
She is a fairy with golden hair ; 
And he is stalwart and brave I know, 

And he gazes upon her with fondest pride — 
And I see her blushes come and go 

As his strong arm draws her to his side. 
Then I turn away, for I will not seem 
To pry in the secrets of love's young dream. 

I watch the lovers over the way 

Till my heart goes back to a distant day, 

And I think of the lover brave and young 

\Mio sat with me in the window seat 
Till our land o'er which the war clouds hung 

Shook with the tread of marching feet ; 
He went to the wars, and I watched in vain 
For the one who never came back again. 

I look at the lovers over the way 

And pray that their lot may be bright and gay, 

While with aching heart and tearful eyes 

I think of the soldier sleeping now. 
His face turned up to the southern skies 

And the laurel wreath on the marble brow, 
But I know that over the jasper sea 
My lover is waiting to welcome me. 

The lovers over the way are wed 
And gone, and their house looks grim and dead, 
The bishop with robe and book of prayer 
And surplice of state came dowm one night, 

22 



Day Dreams 

And I caught a g-linipse of the bridal pair 

Her flush of joy and his fond deh'ght. 
And I thanked my God with tearful eyes 
For that fleeting glimpse of paradise. 



DROPPING OUT OF SIGHT. 

In the world around us 

All the hopes and fears — 
All the life-boats drifting 

On the tide of years — 
Drift but for a season. 

Through the waning light, 
Then like wrecks of ocean 

Dropping out of sight. 

Comes the joyous spring-time 

From the winter's gloom. 
Mongrel tints are deep'ning 

Into fragrant bloom — 
Filling for a season 

Hearts with rare delight. 
Then with added splendor 

Dropping out of sight. 

Roses bloom and wither. 
Soft winds come and go. 

Saddest change is written 
Over all below ; 

23 



Day Dreams 

Dearest hopes that thrilled us 
\A'ith their beauty bright, 

Like the twilight shadows 
Dropping out of sight. 

Like a brilliant meteor 

Flashing through the clouds ■ 
Shines a loyal spirit 

O'er the swaying crowds — 
Only for a season 

Dazzling through the night, 
Then without a warning 

Dropping out of sight. 

Stand we on the borders 

Of the better land, 
Shadow'y forms before us 

Wave a beckoning hand; 
One by one we're coming 

From the shores of night — 
From the friends that love us. 

Dropping out of sight. 

Shall we when we gather 

In the ''mansions fair" — 
When our w^earied spirits 

Drop the masks they wear — 
See the cares crushed us 

With their chilling blight. 
All the grief and sorrow 

Dropping out of sight. 

24 



Day Dreams 

THE RAGGED COAT. 

An old ragged coat, not deforming, Init hiding 
The true kingly spirit beneath it abiding; 
You may see it each day on the street with its wearer. 
And to me a good broadcloth could never be fairer. 
Though I know not the name of the owner at meeting, 
I know that beneath it a warm heart is beating". 
I saw the old coat on the street one sharp morning 
When jack-frost was abroad with his fairy adorning; 
Just before me a beggar, a forlorn little maiden. 
Whose bare toes peeped out wnth frost bites o'erladen. 
Was shivering and crouching by the wall for protection. 
When a shiny broadcloth came down that direction, 
With gold-headed cane and glossy black beaver ; 
Thought 1, there's an angel come down to relie\e her. 
The shivering- blue fingers were stretched (^ut imploring. 
But the broadcloth passed on, the mute figure ignc^ring ; 
The cane stumped along with speed unabated. 
With the shining- black beaver, while I curiously waited, 
Eor I saw down the sidewalk the ragged coat coming 
And heard the low tune the owner was humming. 
The blue hand outstretched, half waiting, half doubting, 
"What's to pay," then the loud cheery voice was shouting; 
Then straight to the depth of the old ragged pocket 
The owner's hand went like the flash of a rocket. 
And a coin flashed out in the waiting blue fingers. 
While a bright cheery smile round the older lips lingers, 
'Tt's a small enough sum, my forlorn little maiden. 
But Em not with the riches you lack overladen : 
It's my very last coin as I'm a sinner, 

25 



Da\ Dreams 

But I'm able to work and can go without dinner." 

And on tramped the ragged coat again in a minute, 

Straight to his- toil as though pleasure were in it. 

I watched until my eyes that w^ere misty and brimming. 

Saw straight through the crust that the spirit was dimming, 

And lo ! 'twas the soul of a monarch right royal 

That the ragged coat hid, and a heart true and loyal ; 

And the battered hat seemed like a halo of glory 

That told me again the sweet Bethlehem story. 

While on down the street the tall beaver shining 

With the gold-headed cane and the broadcloth entwining, 

Kept guard o'er the shriveled up soul of a miser. 

The world f(jr his living, no better, nor wiser. 

Said I to myself, "Now the proof is most damning 

That life after all, then, is nothing but shamming. 

Since kings stalk abroad in a workman's old breeches 

And selfishness hides 'neath the glitter of riches." 

What the test then that shall in their true color's show them ? 

The passing breeze whispers, ''by their works ye shall know them. 

You may see it each day on the street with its wearer. 

And the l^est of good broadcloth can never be fairer ; 

An old ragged coat, not deforming, but hiding 

The true kingly spirit beneath it abiding. 



26 



Day Dreams 

THE KING'S DAUCxHTERS. 

Into the highways dark of hfe 
Where need is sorest and want is rife 

Passes a loyal band. 
With tireless footsteps, scattering seed 
Of help and comfort to human need, 
"To one of the least," their only creed. 

They follow the ''Master's" hand, 

Into the homes where grim want stalks 
And poverty's grinning skeleton walks. 

They pass with gentle tread, 
And want and poverty flee before. 
And hope and courage arise once more, 
In fainting hearts that were wounded sore 

In the struggle fierce for bread. 

Where sickness and sorrow walk hand in hand, 
Fearless and bold the noble band 

Are bearing their symbol of good. 
And the "wolf at the door" slinks away 
Into the shadows cold and gray, 
Wdien a light step echoes along the way 

Of the white cross sisterhood. 

Oh loiterers, along life's highway wide. 
Who sit at your ease what'er betide, 

Arouse at their bugle call ; 
Sustain the hearts of the loyal band 
Who so bravelv toil in a thankless land. 
And lighten their labor with heart and hand 

Lest at last they faint and fall. 
27 



Day Dreams 

THE OLD LOOKING GLASS. 

Alas ! for the fate that has brought me here, 
To hang in a garret musty and drear. 
While out in the light of the beautiful sun, 
The drama of life, so long begun. 
Goes on and on, while I stranded lie 
Like some broken wreck 'neath a darkened sky; 
Alone, save the mice, whose twinkling feet 
Creep boldly out from their safe retreat, 
And the rats that look from their hiding place, 
While the spiders weave webs across my face. 
The gilt on my frame is tarnished and grim. 
And my polished surface is cracked and dim; 
The boards in my back creak out with pain 
At each fitful gust of the winter rain. 
Ah ! nowhere I know in the earth or sky 
Is there a sorrier wreck than I. 

And yet, in spite of my desolate fate, 

What a wonderful story I might relate. 

Of the vanished years with their hopes and fears, 

And their strange commingling of smiles and tears. 

I could tell of the forms of airy grace 

That have shone in the depths of mv polished face. 

Of the eyes that have looked with careless mirth 

Ere they closed for aye to the scenes of earth ; 

I have seen the faces of beauty fair 

Grow wrinkled and old, and the shining hair 

Lose its gloss and glitter, while tlireads of gray 

Crept through it silently day by day. 

28 



Day Dreams 

I have watched while the laughing eyes of youth 

Grew faded and sad, while the stamp of truth 

W^as swept away by the living death 

That lurks in the wine-cup's poisonous breath. 

Ah ! the generations that have passed along ; 

The tears I have witnessed — the smiles, the song; 

The pledge of lovers, the marriage vow. 

The blushing bride with her sunny brow ; 
I can see once more the matchless grace 

Of the fairy form, and the smiling face 
That gazed in my depths with happy eyes, 
Reflecting a dream of love's paradise. 
Alas! that the scene so soon should change, 
And shadows so cold, and dark and strange, 
Should chase the light from the sunny room, 
And shadow each waiting heart with gloom ; 
Reflected within my surface now, 
The bride of a year, with marble brow. 
Lies silent and chill, while the laughing eyes. 
Closed to earth, have opened in paradise, 
While closely clasped to the pulseless breast, 
A babe is hushed to eternal rest. 

But the swift years fleeting flow on and bring 

Life's changes still on their tireless wing. 

Another sits in the vacant chair 

And combs before me her shining hair. 

And childish voices ring through the hall, 

While still on the dingy parlor wall 

1 hang in state till the merry brood. 

Who my steadfast friends through the years have stood, 

29 



Day Dreams 

Flit out, in turn, to the world's rough strife, 

And the old folks pass to the better life. 

Alas ! alas ! I outlived them all. 

But am borne in turn from the parlor wall, 

By stranger hands to the garret room 

To languish alone in the dust and gloom. 

Too old-fashioned to suit in this modern day — 

Hid wdth the mice and cobwebs away; 

For the maiden wdio walks in scornful pride, 

Through the rooms where the children were born and died, 

Must needs have a costlier glass than I, 

To reflect the charms that are passing by. 

My surface is blurred with a mist of tears, 

And marred and cracked \vith the weight of years, 

While the boards in my back creak out with pain 

At each fitful gust of the winter rain ; 

But, ah ! in spite of my hapless fate. 

What a w^onderful story I might relate ! 



IN THE WEST. 

Prairies stretching boundless 
To the distant W^est, 

Endless hillocks raising 
Waving, glowing crest ; 



Graceful slopes and hollows, 
Seas of billow^y green. 

Richer view was never 
By eyes of mortal seen : 



30 



Day Dreams 

Emigration marching- 

With steady onward tread. 
And cactus, brush and bramble 

Hide their hydra head. 
Long brown furrows reacliing 

O'er each 1)illowy crest, 
Ah! this hfe is pleasant 

In the glorious W^est. 

Now the train is bearing us 
Toward the setting sun, 
And the twilight shadows 

Tell us day is done: 
Cities drop behind us 
Little towns before. 
And solitude seems brooding 

All the prairie o'er ; 
Now the morning sunshine 

Gilds the waving plain 
Opening to our vision 
Fairest views again; 
Streams like silver ribbons 

With banks in l)ushes dressed, 
Ah! this life is pleasant 
In the glorious W^st. 

Buffalo are grazing 

On the distant hills. 
And shy-eyed deer are slaking 

Their thirst at yonder rills; 

31 



Day Dreams 

Around us sail the cowboys 

On their ponies fleet — 
Now they fire revolvers 

Down the village street ; 
Countless herds of cattle 

Dot the untilled plain, 
And wake the morning echoes 

\A^ith sounds of life again, 
In myriad blooming roses, 

The hills and vales are dressed, 
Bless me ! life is pleasant 

In the glorious West. 

From crowded eastern cities 

The hardy sons of toil 
Flock out in steady numbers 

To till this waiting soil, 
But still its wide arms stretching 

Toward the setting sun, 
With countless acres waiting 

And riches yet unwon — 
Are beckoning us onward 

Wdiile soft winds seems to say, 
"Come out, oh weary toilers 

From crowded towns away, 
Come out from ill paid labor 

The gift we give is best. 
And life is free and happy 

In the glorious West." 



32 



Da\ Dreams 
WATCHING THE OLD YEAR OUT. 

Sitting- alone in the fire-light 

A\'atching the shadows fall, 
AVatching niglit's sombre mantle 

Gathering- over all ; 
Listening to hear the footsteps 

Of the new year drawing nigh, 
Keeping my lonely vigil. 

To see the old year die. 

The shadows are gathering darker. 

And my spirit feels the power 
And shrinks from the brooding presence 

Of the solemn midnight hour; 
While over the face of nature, 

A tender veil has spread. 
As if to hide from the careless, 

The form of the old year dead. 

I shrink from the stroke of midnight, 

And sigh at the tale it tells. 
While I seem to hear the echo 

Of the tinkle of fairy bells ; 
And T seem to hear them ringing 

A welcome loud and clear. 
To herald the coming footstep 

Of a happy, new-born year. 

33 



Day Dreams 

And my mind goes backward, backward, 

To the other years gone by, 
When another sat beside me. 

To see the old year die; 
Together we knelt in the firelight, 

And listened for fairy bell, 
From the shades of misty silence 

The birth of the new year tell. 

The firelight shone on my darling, 

And pictured an angel's grace, 
On the flowing sunny ringlets 

And the happy smiling face ; 
While she whispered "what is the new year 

Bringing for you and I ? 
Shall we watch again, I wonder. 

To see the old year die?" 

Ah me ! ere the happy new year 

Grew l)right with summer's l3loom, 
My darling had passed forever 

To the home beyond the tomb ; 
And the snows of many winters 

Have lain on her lonely bed. 
Since the sods of the valley covered 

From sight the golden head. 

I have seen the years troop onward 
Since that happy day gone by. 

And in many a lonely vigil 

I have watched the old years die ; 

34 



Day Dreams 

But my heart will sorrow ever, 
'Till the new year dawns for nie, 

When the boatman comes to bear me 
Over the mystic sea. 



LIFE'S PROBLEMS. 

Eyes like dewey violets. 

Cheeks like roses red. 
Glowing sunbeams playing 

O'er the golden head ; 
Airy, fairy footsteps 

Dancing o'er the hill, 
Voice, whose music rivals 

The mocking bird's soft trill. 
Now, in brownest study 

Droops the dainty head, 
Forgotten bird and sunshine — 

Mighty thoughts instead. 
Draw the brows together 

In a tiny frown. 
Puzzling o'er the problem 

Of — cutting dolly's gown. 

Sitting in the starlight 

With drooping head, alone; 

Childish joys forgotten. 
Sedate and older grown. 

35 



Day Dreams 

A new light soft and tender 

Dawns in the dewey eyes, 
That look with silent rapture 

Adown love's paradise. 
Puzzling for a season 

O'er offers two and three, 
The true heart knowing surely 

Just which one it must be. 
Ah ! sweet delicious problem 

So soon and truly solved, 
Although two lives forever 

Are hopelessly involved. 

A woman worn and weary. 

Hands rough and brown from toil, 
With eyes grown dim and faded 

From burning midnight oil, 
Counts o'er her sleeping treasures 

With fondest love and pride, 
The lads, so like their father. 

The baby girl beside; 
Widowed and poor, yet smiling 

O'er each fair sunny head. 
While puzzling o'er the problem 

Of shelter and of bread. 
Oh! problem, darkest, hardest, 

That Fate can ever give. 
Most difficult of solving — 

The problem how to live. 



36 



Day Dreains 

DIVORCED. 

Yes, Mary, we have parted, the deed at last is done ; 

Two Hves that ran together, two hearts that beat as one 

Are parted now forever, the breach no time can heal, 

Though fondly we imagined, that whether woe or weal. 

Our love would last forever, outshining e'en the sun, 

And we should drift together 'till all of life was done. 

Ah ! me, the space that parts us, one mile of summer green, 

And yet, the ocean's billows as well might roll between. 

Why was it. do you ask me? Ah, well, I hardly know, 

Some clouds that hid the sunshine, an adverse wind or so. 

T hardly can remember the trifles light as air. 

That o'er our wedded horizon first cast a cloud of care. 

He grew somewhat neglectful, perhaps by word or look. 

And my rebellious temper no slight or wTong could brook; 

So one thing to another led onward day by day, 

Until the love we cherished seemed drifting quite away. 

The little faults and failings that each of us possessed, 

From hillocks grew to mountains, till each was sore distressed. 

Had each been slow to anger, instead of quick and proud, 

The breach would not have widened ; but now the little cloud. 

At first a speck appearing, kept spreading far and wnde, 

Until its gloomy shadow has darkened all beside ; 

And so at last we've parted, the w^-etched deed is done, 

And all the world looks dreary, and dark and cold the sun. 

Here in my arms, I'm holding his babe upon my breast, 

'Tis all that now is left me from the lot I deemed as blest; 

The eyes, so like his fathers, gaze smiling in my own, 

Unmindful that his mother, save him. is now alone. 

37 



Day Dreams 

Here, j\Iary, take the paper and read the words once more, 
I cannot see the letters, a mist seems gathering o'er : 
The words run all together before my tear-dimmed sight. 
But read and I will listen. Ah ! then, I heard aright, 
"Charles Allen versus Jennie;" just Heaven! and is this then 
These vows so lightly broken, the vaunted love of men? 
Has he so soon forgotten those happy days gone by? 
Love's bright and radiant daw^ning, the sacred marriage tie? 
The vows so softly whispered beneath the silent stars? 
Love's glow, that so outrivaled the morning's rosy bars? 
Has he so soon forgotten the babe within my arms? 
And has its winning helplessness to him no tender charms? 
Divorced ! oh ! word of horror, for well, ah well. I know 
The stain will cling about me wherever I may go ; 
The w^orld, so kind and lenient towards a man's good name. 
Looks coldly on a woman, and holds her most to blame. 
So in these hasty tempers that proved our wedded curse. 
And in this lack of patience, and pride, which still is worse. 
We were neither of us blameless, nor free from giving pain, 
And yet, I have forgiven, and could forg'ive again. 
Alas ! how useless, useless, these w^orse than vain regrets ; 
\Adiy must a w^oman sorrow, when man so soon forgets ? 
The bands so lightly sundered have frailer proved than straw. 
This law of such divorces is not a righteous law. 
For, Mary, on my finger still gleams the wedding ring, 
Wdiile in my arms I'm holding his babe, a helpless thing. 
No shadow of dishonor has ever dimmed my life. 
And yet, though still a mother, this leaves me not a wife. 
Too late, you say? truly, the wretched deed is done. 
Two lives that ran together, two hearts that beat as one, 

38 



Day Dreams 

Are parted now forever, unless somewhere above 
The hearts on earth divided, unite in perfect love. 
Divorced ! ah ! word of horror, thy sting must lose its smart, 
And sweet peace fold her pinions again within this heart. 
When pride, once more upholding, shall raise her banner high, 
And change to radiant morning the cloud-ribbed, midnight sky; 
When hope, with bright adorning, shall pierce the dismal gloom, 
And faith point shining finger to bliss beyond the tomb. 
For there no clouds of anger can dim the spirit's birth. 
And we may win forever the love we lost on earth. 



THE BAL MASQUE. 

What fascination in a sight 

So quaint and so amusing, 
But how describe a scene though seen, 

So charming and confusing; 
Kaleidoscopic figures glide 

In rhythmic rhyme and measure, 
And grotesque forms flash in and out. 

Intent alone on pleasure. 

The devil waltzing with a saint 
Goes down the room a flying : 

A preacher and a ballet girl 
The racquet step are trying; 

39 



Da\ Dreams 

A clown and nun go whirling; by. 
The giddy hour beguiling, 

While sociably a jolly tar 

And negro wrench are smiling. 

The bishop in his robes of state 

A chambermaid is clasping, 
AVhile Humpty Dumpty w'addles by 

The Queen of England grasping; 
A Lilly with a Japanese 

Joins in a dizzy spinning, 
And over all with horrid leer 

A hideous death's head grinning. 

A German from the Faderland 

With baby mine is wdiirling; 
A dandy with his jeweled hand 

His well waxed mustache twirling, 
While with a ragged beggar girl 

He joins in wild cotillion, 
Until it seems the room contains 

Of maskers half a million. 

No season this for making love, 

No time for soft hand pressing, 
Lest one deceived by horrid mask 

Should make mistake in guessing. 
And so betray the heart's fond hope 

To maid with mishcief laughing. 
And find instead of love returned 

But tantalizing chaffing. 

40 



Day Dreams 
IF. 

If we could pierce the clouds that often hide 

The light of day, " 
And see the pitfalls and the snares that lie 

Along the way, 
Our souls might well in terror shrink appalled 

And pause in dread. 
Lest some false step, some grievous harm might bring 

Upon our head. 
If we knew the trouble that a word might bring, 

\\'ould we beware, 
To add to the already burdened soul 

Another care? 
If we considered all the sad effects 

Of slander's breath — 
How like a pestilence that sows abroad 

The seeds of death; 
Or like the tiny pebble thrown within 

The ocean wave. 
Each ripple widening to some far off shore 

To find a grave — 
Ah ! then I think each hand would tightly close 

Upon the seed. 
Each soul would pause affrighted ere they risked 

The word or deed. 
If all who live in houses made of glass 

Should pause to think. 
That they, perchance, are standing also on 
Some awful brink, 

41 



Day Dreams 

Ah! would they throw the stone designed to hit 

The fabric frail 
That shelters some poor shrinking soul within 

Its feeble pale? 
If we knew some thoughtless spoken word 

The last would be 
A well loved friend would ever hear on earth, 

Ah ! then would we 
Have taken greater pains to make it kind. 

But now too late, 
We find the golden moment passed, for aye — 

Time does not wait. 
If we knew our chance for doing good 

Would soon be past, 
The pleasant morrow wnth its hopes and fears 

Would be our last, 
Then would we fling the precious time away 

In useless strife? 
Or would our souls grow brave in fitting for 

A better life. 
And so, unknowing all that lies before, 

Each soul should say, 
'T'll walk uprightly lest my stumbling feet 

Fall by the way." 
Then if, that little word so often frought 

With deadly leaven. 
Might cease to be a stumbling block between 

Our souls and heaven. 



42 



Day Dreams 
A RETROSPECT. 

Em sitting- alone by the hearth to-night, 
Watching the gleam of the fitful light, 
That chases the shadows by — 
But, somehow, to-night the sigh 
Of the winter wind as it wails around 
And chases the dry leaves over the ground, 
Seems breathing a mournful cry. 

While the shadows gather athwart the room, 

And the corners are wrapped in deepest gloom, 
Which the firelight passes by. 
Oh ! why do I heave a sigh. 

And tremble so at the winter blast? 

Is it a fear of the ghosts of the past? 
Or of conscience' feeble cry? 

For what has conscience to do with me? 
The wealth I have gathered from land and sea 

To my heart, can never fail ; 

Then why should I shrink and quail ? 
For I have houses and I have lands — 
And none in the city higher stands. 

Than I, in the social scale. 

And what do I care for the widows tears. 

Or the poor I have ground through all the years, 

In gathering gold to me ? - 

When all the time I can see 

43 



Day Dreams 

My papers have never a legal flaw, 
And all is right in the eyes of the law — 
So what are the poor to me? 

And what do I care that the gold I have gained, 
At the gaming table, is sometimes stained 

With starving children's tears; 

And why should a thousand fears — 
And doubts, creep over my heart to-day, 
When all of my sin I have hidden away 

From the swiftly coming years? 

Can the tale be true, that a watchful eye, 
Somewhere, from the depths of yonder sky, 

Can spy all our secrets out? 

Of late I've many a doubt 
That my wealth, ill-gotten, can bring me peace. 
Or smooth my path as the years increase, 

And my lamp of life goes out. 

The fire-light fails to lighten the room, 
And figures start from the gathering gloom. 

And I shrink in nervous dread ; 

For I seem to hear the tread 
Of the years misspent that are long since past. 
And voices call out from the winter blast : 

"Alas for the hopes now dead." 



44 



Day Dreams 

BY AND BY. 
Prize Poem. 

Awarded first prize at contest in Joplin, Mo. — 1880. 

Summer with her golden beauty, 

Roses with their radiant bloom, 
All are gone, and leaves are dropping, 

Softly, sadly, o'er their tomb ; 
Tell, oh tell me, winds of autumn. 

Wailing o'er them as they lie. 
Shall we see the roses blooming 

In new beauty by and by? 

Clouds have gathered dark and dreary, 

Shorter grows each wintry day, 
Snows of winter soon will banish 

From our land the songster's lay ; 
Tell, oh, tell me, winds of autumn. 

Is there still a shining sky? 
Have the clouds a silver lining! 

Will the spring come by and by? 

Withered leaves are softly falling, 

On the bare and sodden earth. 
Banquet halls, so lately ringing, 

With the sounds of joy and mirth, 
Chill and silent, wait the dawning 

Of a fairer, brighter skv. 
Wailing winds of autumn tell me 

W^ill the sun shine by and by? 

45 



Day Dreams 

Will the flowers bloom in beauty 

When the springtime comes again? 
Will the storm-clouds break in sunshine? 

And will pleasure banish pain? 
Autumn winds that w^ail around me. 

Clouds that hide the shining sky, 
Tell, oh, tell me, will the summer 

Dawn in beauty by and by? 

And the friends we loved and cherished 

Who have passed from mortal sight, 
Do they, too, await our coming 

In some far off morning light? 
Fairy forms the earth has covered. 

Golden heads that used to lie 
Upon our breasts, oh shall we meet them 

In the radiant by and by? 

Shall we hear the airy footstep 

That has passed from earth away? 
Echo on the golden mountains 

In the bright eternal day? 
Autumn winds that wail around me, 

Tell, oh, tell me, if on high. 
Dawns there not some radiant morning 

Where we'll meet them by and by? 

Softly blow the winds in answer, 
''Winter's storms shall pass away," 

''Spring will come and roses blossom," 
"After night will dawn the day;" 

46 



Day Dreams 

''And the loved and lost are waiting 
In a better home on high," 

''Clothed in beauty, brighter, fairer. 
Thou shalt see them by and by." 



MAY. 

The roses are blooming, are blooming, 

Their fragrance floats out on the breeze, 
The green leaves swing softly and idly 

Fr*om their odorous home in the trees ; 
The sparrows are building, are building, 

Their nests in the flower g-emmed grass, 
The starry eyed daisies are nodding 

Their heads to the zephyrs that pass. 

The clover is budding, is budding, 

1lie bumble bees humming around. 
And wonderful beauties are springing 

Each day from the dew-laden ground. 
And skyward is floating, is floating. 

The notes of the mocking bird's lay. 
All nature is pulsing and throbbing 

With the life of the beautiful May. 

But the royal red roses, the roses. 

The queens of the season and flowers. 

Their beauty makes lighter and brighter 
The gloom of the toil laden hours ; 

47 



Da\ Dreams 

Their frag'rance can banish, can banish 

The cobwebs of doubt from the brain, 
'Till the hopes that were drooping and fading 

Will blossom to new life again. 
Then bring them, the roses, the roses, 

To lighten the toil of the day, 
And twnne them in beautiful garlands 

The odorous gift of the May. 



AIR CASTLES. 

I built in life's sunny spring-time 

A castle so airy and bright. 
That it seemed neither cloud nor shadow 

Could darken the goodly sight ; 
And the evening sky glowed brighter 

\Miere it bent o'er my castle wall 
And sweeter rang on the still air 

The song of the night-bird's call. 

No tower nor minaret gilded 

Rose up to the blushing sky. 
No banner waved from the rampart 

To welcome the careless eye ; 
For my castle was but a cottage, 

^^'ith walls that were white and low, 
With sweet-briar over the lattice. 

And roses blooming below. 

48 



Day Dreams 

But wild birds sang in the elm trees 

That drooped o'er my castle door, 
And love with his airy footstep 

l^ripped over the oaken floor; 
And there waited my eager conn'ng, 

Bv the rose-laced lattice bars, 
A maiden with sunny tresses. 

And eyes like the summer stars. 

Ah ! me. but my castle faded, 

Like many a princely one. 
And I v/oke to sterner toiling. 

When my pleasant dream was done : 
Since then I have scaled the mountains 

That lead to the heights of fame. 
And given to sons and daughters 

A loyal and honored name. 

I have gazed on the wondrous beauties 

Of many a distant land. 
And built me a princely mansion 

In a city stately and grand ; 
But neither the fame nor roaming. 

Nor mansion goodly and fair. 
Has brought to me the pleasure 

Of the castle built in the air. 



49 



Day Dreams 
HOW LONG. 

How long- will the fortune we think we have conquered, 

Flit mockingly on like a will-o'-the-wisp? 
How long ere the lips that are used to complaining- 
Learn only the accents of patience to lisp? 
How long will the hopes that we cherish so fondly 

Float off from our sight like the mist of the morn? 
While the clouds and the tempest still hanish the sunshine. 
And wreck the sweet peace that our lives might adorn. 
Voice of the winter wind wailing around. 
Drift of the withered leaves over the ground. 
Change to the voice of spring, bid hope return, 
Ere faith's altar fires no longer burn. 

How long will the lights and the shadows commingling, 

Make checkered and dreary each fair dawning day? 
How long must the feet, that are bleeding and weary, 

Press on o'er a thorny and toilsome way? 
How long shall we dim!) ere the dark frowning mountains 

Give way to the valleys so peaceful below. 
And the soul shall rejoice in hope's sweet fruition. 
While waves of contentment shall soothingly flow ? 
Star of Bethlehem shining above. 
Voice of the church bells speaking in love, 
Speak and each doubting heart with courage thrill 
And to the troubled waves bid, "Peace! be still." 

How long ere the wrong that is flouting in triumph 
Shall tremble and fall at the power of right? 

When virtue shall sit in the places of honor. 

And all earth be free from oppression's dark night? 

50 



Da\ Dreams 

How long", oh! how long", shall affliction sweep o'er us? 
How long" must we weep for the loved we have lost? 
How long- in the journey that lieth before us 

Shall our life-boats by wave and by tempest be tossed; 
Clouds that are sih-er-lined break from the Hoom. 
Hope folds her brooding wing- over the tomb. 
Faith points with shining hand on to the goal, 
Darkness nor storms can there shadow the soul. 



W^HAT THE WIND SAID. 

How the wind was blowing! 
With never a pause the whole night going, 
It rattled the windows and shook the door. 
And fought for an entrance o'er and o'er. 
Then laughed and shrieked in demoniac glee 
As it tore the leaves froni each swaying tree. 
And scattered them wdde on the frosty air 
And battered the branches dry and bare. 

How the wind was blowing! 
It capered and danced tlie whole night going-, 
It slammed the shutters and creaked the gate 
And blew in the chimnev like voice of fate ; 
It chattered and moaned at my window pane 
Then off in the wildest waltz again, 

51 



jD ay Dreams 

'Till we half exipected to wake and see 
The world whirled off from its gravity, 
Or all the spirits of earth and air 
Joined in carnival everywhere. 

How the wind was blowing! 
It sobljed and moaned the whole night going; 
It paused in the wildest waltz to sigh 
And breathe through the lattice a mournful cry, 
And the angry bluster and sobbing breath 
Would die aw^ay to the hush of death. 
Then rise to a mournful wail again 
Like some lost spirit in mortal pain. 
While the moon gleamed ghostly from misty skies, 
And the pale stars looked in sad surprise. 

How^ the wind was blowing — 
The tale it told the sad truth showing: 
It told of the greedy race for gain. 
Where none would pause for a brother s pain, 
Then clattered and clashed like the endless strife 
That marks out the turbulent path of life: 
It sighed for the fond hopes faded away. 
And mourned for the lost hours gone for aye. 
Then died away to a sobbing breath 
That told of the warm hearts chilled in death. 
Ah ! how did the wind w^ith its mirthless laugh — 
Its sobbing and moaning, its chatter and chaff, 
Know so well the tale of our mortal life. 
Its hours of pleasure, its wants and strife. 
That it touched each cord with unerrin5{ hand 
And shouted the secret o'er all the land. 

52 



Day Dreams 
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 

Step softly, ah ! step softly, 

A guest has entered here. 
Unbidden and unwelcome, 

W^hom mortals dread and fear : 
His presence stalking grimly 

Around the family hearth. 
Has spread a sombre shadow. 

And chilled each sound of nu'rtl: 



Each voice is hushed and solemn. 

Each footstep softly steals, 
\\'hile in the darkened chamber 

A weeping mourner kneels ; 
Ah! life has lost its sunshine. 

And earth is wrapjied in gloom 
Our hearts are sh.rouded darkly 

In shadows from the tomb. 



Turn out the guest unbidden. 

And open wide the door. 
Bid Heaven's blessed sunshine 

Illume our hearts once more 
Arouse the silent sleeper 

That lieth straight and chill. 
And make the pulses quiver 

W^ith bounding life at will. 

53 



Dav Dreams 

Alas ! the guest unbidden 

Goes not at our command — 
The figure chill and silent 

Beneath Death's icy hand, 
Stirs not at tender calling, 

Nor heedeth tears that flow, 
While life has lost its sunshine — 

And all is dark below. 

And shall these clouds forever 

Enwrap our mortal sight ? 
And shall we shrink and tremble 

At Death's unwelcome might? 
Ah, no ! if Faith triumphant 

Can look beyond the veil. 
And see the bliss awaiting 

When heart of flesh shall fail. 
Oh! then the King of terrors 

Shall lose his venomed sting. 
And souls may dwell securely 

Beneath hope's brooding wing. 



THE OLD HOUSE. 

A Story. 

The old house stands in the valley 
As it did in the days of yore, 

The ivy droops over the windows, 
The jessamine creeps o'er the floor 

54 



Day Dreams 

The l3uni1)Iel)ees hum in the clover, 

The swallows build in the ea\'es. 
And the thrush holds matinees dailv 

In the shade of the maple leaves ; 
The robin still sings in the pt^plars 

That stand like sentinels tall 
Down l:)y the gate, and the g'rape vine 

Still droops o'er the garden wall. 

But the tall rank grass is waving 

Untouched l)y the mower's hand, 
And l)raml:)le and brier unheeded 

Run riotous OA'er the land ; 
And dank green mold is creeping 

Over the door stone wide. 
And the roses untrimmed on the trellis 

Are tangled b}' wn'nd and tide : 
The windows, so high and narrow. 

Have yielded to wind and rain. 
Till the winter's snows have entered 

Through many a broken pane. 

Ah ! what is the mournful story 

That the old house tells to-day? 
Does it speak of the hopes that drifted 

Like the autumn lea\es away? 
Of the fair home group that gathered 

Of old in those dingy walls? 
And the music of childish laughter 

That rang through the vacant halls? 

55 



Day Dreams 

I can see them 3'et before nie. 
The beautiful brood that sprung 

From the grey old walls, and the babble 
Of voices fresh and young. 

It was only the old, old story, 

But ever also so dread, 
The tempter so fair, so fatal, 

\\\\\\ his slimy serpent tread. 
Crept over the threshold softly. 

And lured with dazzling charms 
The pride and hope of the household 

To his death-embracing arms : 
'Twas this demon drink, was weaving 

With terrible warp and woof, 
'Till the shadow of dark dishonor 

Fell over the household roof. 

The boy, his mother's darling. 

And the pride of his father's heart, 
Vv'ith his innocent hand dealt surely 

The death envenomed dart. 
Embracing the wily tempter. 

His senses dulled by drink, 
A precipice yawning widely 

His feet on the dreaded brink, 
No hand of love could stay him — 

He plunged, and the deed was done. 
And the prison walls yawned v/idely 

To receive the erring son. 

56 



Da\ Dreams 

1lie fee])le and grey-haired parents 

Drooped 'neath the deadly blow, 
'Till the broken hearts were resting 

Under the winter's snow"; 
While over the old home gathered 

The shadow of dark despair. 
And the fair home group was scattered 

Like leaves on the autumn air. 
So the old house stands forsaken. 

And battered by wind and rain, 
'Till the snows of many a winter 

Drift in through each broken pane. 

I sometimes creep through the doorway, 

And search through the vacant hall 
For the print of childish fingers 

On the time-stained crumbling wall. 
And I seem to hear the echo 

Of the patter of baby feet. 
And the music of silvery laughter. 

And the voices low and sweet. 
And I turn my head to see them 

Troop in through the open door, 
And I see it was but the rustle 

Of the dry leaves on the floor. 

Then I vainly ask of the silence 
That broods o'er each empty room, 

''Will human love never brighten 
Again in this dust and gloom?" 

But the wdnd seems to whistle sadly 

As it creeps through each broken pane, 

57 



Day Dreams 

''Alas ! what the tempter has darkened 

Can never be bright again." 
Then I seem to hear a rustle 

Of a light wing overhead. 
And a soft voice whispers sadly : 

"Look not on the wine when it's red." 



FRAGMENT. 

The low-hung clouds were drooping darkly, darkly, 

0\'er the way. 
And, wrapped within their grim and icy shadows. 

The perfect day. 
The winter wind wailed sadly round my dwelling. 

Like spirits lost. 
While through a maze of doubt my soul groped blindly 

All tempest tossed ; 
When, lo! a sunbeam pierced the gloomy shadows, 

And by its glow, 
I saw the clouds had each a silver lining, 

While soft and low 
The winter winds now breathed a joyous anthem, 

And, blissful sight. 
There sprang in perfect beauty from the tempest 

A starry night. 



58 



Day Dreams 
AN OLD MAID'S STORY. 

An old maid? ah 3^es, I know it! 

Thirty-five since yesterday morn — 
A thing to be laughed at and pitied, 

Or treated with silent scorn. 
Last night I discovered a wrinkle, 

This morning a gray hair or so ; 
Well, youth has departed, that's certain. 

And personal charms will soon go. 

Offers? well yes, I have had them, 

I might have been wife number three 
Of Smith, with his six small children 

But I didn't feel fitted, you see; 
Or, I might have been Madame Browning, 

With my carriage and pair to-day. 
And dressed in my silks and laces 

Listead of this sober gray. 



What, sighing, you say? well surely 

I could not wed merely for gold, 
Nor barter my heart's affections 

For his wealth a thousand fold ; 
It was not for gold I was sighing. 

Nor yet for the lonely life. 
For an old maid's lot is brighter 

Than that of an unloved wife. 

59 



Day Dreams 

I will tell you why I was sighing : 

'Twas a dream of the long ago. 
That vanished like mists of the morning 

Or faded like winter's snow ; 
\Mien the war hroke out, you remember. 

That fearful rebellion and strife, 
A few^ more weeks was to see me 

A happy and blessed wife. 

I loyed so entirely, no sorrow^ 

In all this wide world could I see. 
And the bridal robes were all ready 

For the bride that \yas neyer to be; 
He went to the wars, oh Heayen ! 

The horrible anguish and pain — 
The tears and the prayers unayailing — 

He never came back ag"ain. 

He whisper'd at parting, be faithful. 

And so through the years that have flown. 
My heart that was his so entirely. 

No other love ever has known. 
And now you know all my sad story, 

And why an (^Id maid I must be. 
Because just over the river 

AIv true love is waiting for me. 



60 



Day Dr CO Ills 
UP AND DOWN. 

Up and down and back and forward 

Goes this see-saw life of onrs. 
Straying now^ in pleasant pathways 

Bordered with the fairest flowers ; 
Groping* then through darkest shadows 

O'er a rough and rocky way. 
Torn by thorn and caught by bramble 

While night hides the smiling day. 
Now we roam through pleasant valleys 

Chased by sound of waterfall, 
\A'hile from every flower gemmed thicket 

Floats the song-bird's noon-day call. 
Now a desert bleak and barren 

Stretches out on every side 
And wdth shivering fear we wonder 

What may next our steps betide. 

Now perhaps the royal mountains 

Rise before our longing eyes. 
While each purple tree crowned sumnn't 

Fills our souls with glad surprise ; 
Daring hearts whose feet are scaling 

'fleights w^e may not hope to win. 
Wave us on 'till lagging footsteps 

• Swift the toilsome path begin. 
And above us on the mountains 

Where the purple clouds we see, 
Richest fruits gleam from the tree-tops. 

Laurel wreaths wave mockingly. 

61 



Day Dreams 

Now perhaps success has crowned us. 
And we gaze serenely bland 

On the struggling crowds below us, 
From the heights where safe we stand. 

Safe? oh, no! for fortune frowning- 
Turns her fateful wheel around, 

Down we come with crash and ruin 
Prone once more on lowly ground. 

Up and down and back and forward 

Goes this see-saw life of ours, 
None may know when morning dawneth 

V\diat awaits the evening hours. 
None may know how soon his footsteps 

Scale the purple mountain height, 
None may know how soon a downfall 

All his hopes of fortune blight. 

\\ hy then waste the precious moments 
Striving to outshine them all. 

When perhaps our waiting neighbor 
Proudly builds upon our fall ; 

Why then strive so blindly, blindly, 
For a higher place to stand. 

When perhaps the next wave sweeping- 
Proves our rock w^as only sand? 

Why then deal in pride and passion 
For so brief, so brief a day. 

When we know the evening cometh 
WTierein none may toil for aye. 

62 



Day Dreams 

THE FOLKS IN THE CORNER HOUSE. 

The folks in the corner house I know 
\Yqvq rich and honored not long ag'O, 
For an honored name I read each day 

On the polished door's silver plate, 
As I st(^p to watch the gold fish play 

In the marble fount by the iron gate, 
\Miere marble steps lead high and wide 
To the blooming- terrace on either side. 



't3 



But a strange neglect seems creeping o'er, 
And the step on the velvet covered floor 
Grows slow and sad, and the father's form, 

Erect and stately but yesterday, 
Grows bent and worn in the fearful storm 

Now sweeping his cherished prop away; 
AAdiile the patient mother, hopeful still, 
Grows faint at the shadow of coming ill. 

For the son wh.o li\-es in the corner house 
Has joined of late in a wild carouse. 
And boon companions are stamping now 

The serpent's seal on the youthful face, 
While hao-o-ard lines on the bovish brow 

Betoken too well its startling pace. 
For ''they say" a drinking and gambling den 
Allures this weakest of fast young men. 

63 



Dav Dreams 

The boon companions hold revel late. 
For I heard the click of the garden gate 
Last night at the hour of one or two, 

And the staggering step was weak and slow 
And a watch was kept the whole night through, 

For I saw^ the night lamp burning low, 
And I knew the patient mother wept 
As faithful watch for her boy she kept. 

Affairs in the corner house grow worse — - 
There are new demands on the failing purse, 
For I note on the patient mother's face 

A look as of added doubt and care, 
While the harrassed lines creep on apace 

On the father's brow, and wild despair 
Seems to fill his heart as day by day 
The last faint hopes are drifting away. 

Ah! when will this sickening tragedy 
I have watched so long from sympathy. 
Be o'er, and the corner house again 

Put on its aspect of blooming peace? 
Oh, never more, for I hear with pain 

That the nightly revels still increase. 
And I saw a man at the house to-day 
Bearing the costly goods away. 

The end approaches, the drunken brawls 
Have closed at last in the prison walls ; 
They are strangers to nie and I may not go 
And offer the sympathy I feel, 

64 



Day Dreams 

Though the feeble father's step is slow. 

And the mother all day long may kneel 
In anguished prayer in her boy's room, 
Now shrouded in worse than deathly gloom. 

The corner house has been sold to-day 
To meet the debts that were made at play ; 
The father's hair has grown snowy white 

And the fish in the marble fount are dead, 
While over all is the gloom of night — 

The trail of the ''tiger's" bloody tread ; 
The blinds are lowered and much I fear 
That the angel of death is hovering near. 

The play in the corner house is o'er, 

And crape streams wide from the polished door, 

The patient mother's sad face lies 

Frozen and white 'neath the coffin lid. 
And the grey-haired father's weeping eyes 

All day in his shaking hands are hid, 
While the poor-house doors yawn wide and grim, 
The only shelter now left to him. 



65 



Da\ Dreams 
FAIRY BELLS. 

I heard the fairy beUs 
Ring- througii the solemn silence of the night. 
I looked, and lo ! the old year, faint and white, 
Stood trembling- on the threshold of the past, 
While earth in sleep's embrace lay chill and fast; 
And dim and distant glowed the midnight sky, 
While memories in ghostly ranks trooped by. 
I saw the dead years piled like autumn leaves. 
While the recording angel garnered sheaves 
Of good resolves that faded like the dew 
Whene'er temptation's sun but rose to view. 
I saw the purple heights whose summit fair. 
Tree crowned, gave hope of fruitage rich and rare 
The niany eager feet that strove to climb. 
The trembling upward step, the faith sublime : 
The iron links that drew them back again. 
The mocking hands that made all effort vain ; 
All this I saw while faint the music swells, 
And nearer, nearer still the fairy bells 

Rang out the old year's dirge. 

I heard the fairy bells, 
And like a scroll the page of years rolled back. 
And once again along the shining track 
I saw the ghostly ranks file slowly past. 
Each with the phantom impress of the last. 
The many wasted hours, the hours of pain, 
Peeied in my face like mocking fiends again; 

66 



Day Dreams 

The vanities, the heartaches and the strife 
Came back to haunt me with a misspent Hfe ; 
Cried I, "no more! O, withered years forbear, 
And let the happy New Year free from care 
Dawn o'er the earth, for though we may not see, 
The pathway stiU before less rough may be 
Than that o'er which our wavering feet have passed, 
And we may hope to reach the goal at last." 
And nearer, neai-er, still the music swells. 
And loud and clear and sweet the fairy bells 
Rang out the New Year's birth. 

I heard the fairy bells 
Ring through the solemn silence of the night. 
And lo ! peace spread its mantle soft and bright 
In tender folds, o'er all the waitino" earth. 
And dark doubt fled before the New Year's birth. 
I still kept watch, but ah! alone no more. 
For sweet companionship with faith I bore. 

And hope beside me folded snow'y wings, 
While restful tidings all the night wind brings. 

And louder, clearer still the music swells. 
And nearer, dearer, sweeter, fair}^ bells 
Rang out the New Year's birth. 



67 



Day Dreams 

THE OLD SETTLERS' REUNION. 

Prhc Poem. 

Awarded first prize at Reunion at Carthage, Mo., in 1882. 

Once more together, friends, we stand 

Like landmarks b}^ the way, 
To mark the years since first we stood 

Where now^ we meet to-day, 
Ah ! many changes have we seen 

Since first our eager eyes 
On Jasper county's rolling plains 

Gazed out in glad surprise. 

Majestic prairies spreading wide, 

With forests, stream and glade. 
Seemed like a glimpse of Paradise 

To those who, undismayed 
By hardships of a pioneer. 

Left homes of rest and ease, 
To plant within the wilderness 

Still brighter homes than these. 

We've seen old landmarks disappear — 

Swept onward, one by one. 
By emigration's mighty tide. 

Like mists before the sun; 
The little creek we used to ford 

Is spanned by bridges strong, 
The bridle path long- since gave way 

To highways wide and long. 

68 



Day Dreams 

We've seen fair cities springing up 

Like mag'ic by our side, 
Where once, unseen by human eye. 

The wild rose bloomed and died ; 
And stately buildings crown the spot, 

And churches rear their heads, 
Where not so very long ago 

The red deer made their beds. 

The prairies, dotted here and there. 

With settlers' cabins small. 
Have changed to fields of waving grain 

At labor's magic call ; 
And luscious orchards crown the slopes 

That once were covered o'er 
AVith useless brush, and garners deep 

Our countless treasures store. 

But. ah! my friends, not all of joy 

These changes swift have brought, 
For other changes still, have come, 

Unwelcome and unsought; 
The friends who sought with us a home, 

Our comrades, where are they? 
Brave hearts, by watch and labor worn, 

Have fallen by the way. 

The hands that made the wilderness 

To blossom like the rose. 
O'er loyal hearts are folded now. 

In sweet and last repose; 

69 



Day Dreams 

The eyes that gazed with us upon 

Our prairies rolHng sweep. 
And saw the promise of to-day. 

Are closed in dreamless sleep. 

And so my friends we drop a tear 

O'er graves that mark the w^ay, 
Up which we toiled with eager feet 

To where we stand to-day; 
Our hearts with hope's fruition filled. 

Still beat with tender love 
For those who wait our coming now 

In better homes above. 

And so my friends we meet to-day 

With loyal hearts and true, 
To mark our country's prosperous growth 

Like landmarks lone and few ; 
A few more meetings here, perhaps. 

And then the day will dawn, 
When friends with pitying love will say, 

''The last Old Settler's gone." 



70 



Day Dreams 
DOUBT NOT. 

I said to my soul, 
"Oh pilgrim bound for a fairer goal. 
Why hast thou strayed from the solid rock- 
When 'round thee hosts of evil flock 

And the billows roll?" 
But my soul spake not, it was faint with fear. 
Said I, ''Can the trees and the mountains hear? 
Shall I tell to the winds how dark is life 
And how imperiled in deadly strife 

Is my erring wandering soul?" 

Oh mountain height ! 
Heard ye then when alone by the stars' faint light, 
I climbed with weary and aching feet 
To thy dizzy height for the silence sweet 

Of thy peaceful night? 
When on thee my tired heart was pressed. 
Like a sobbing child to its mother's breast. 
And I whispered low to thy tear- wet sod, 
"It is better here ; I am nearer God," 

Knew ye then my soul's sore plight? 

Oh winds that sigh 
Through the pines, heard ye not when sweeping by 
When I bade you carry in words of flame 
The prayer that my weak lips strove to frame, 



To the courts on high ? 



71 



Day Dreams 

Then whence was the answer that fell Hke bahii 
On my waiting heart, and the bhssful cahii 
When the billows of passion ceased to roll, 
And peace fell over my troubled soul, 
And the tempest passed me by? 

Ah, soul, never fear; 
Thou art not forgotten though storms appear, 
For the Father's love is over all — 
And he who noteth the sparrow's fall 

Still holds thee dear. 
The trees, the mountains, the winds that blow, 
Can waft from the shadows of sin below^ 
To the tender ear thy faintest cry. 
And He will hasten the tempest by. 

And fill the faint heart with cheer. 

The rock-ribbed hills, 
The rushing river and tiny rills — 
The mighty ocean whose sad wa\xs moan — - 
Are btit the agents of Him whose throne 

The universe fills ; 
The voice that is heard in each passing breeze — 
The hand that festoons the forest trees — 
Can gather the stray lambs of his flock. 
And plant their feet on the solid rock. 

While with joy all nature thrills. 



72 



Day Dreams 

OUR CHURCH WORKERS. 

We would gather the children in from the street, 
And shelter their souls from the storm and sleet. 
And plant their tender and straying feet 

Safe on the solid rock; 
With patience and love, we would gather them in 
From the snares of the tempter and wiles of sin, 
Till each soul is sheltered, the fold within 

AA'ith the Shepherd's chosen flock. 

AA e would visit the homes where grim want stalks, 
Where poverty's grinning skeleton walks. 
And the sacred wants of the household mocks, 

\\\t\\ shadows of dark despair ; 
We would clothe the naked, the hungry feed, 
And bind up the wounded hearts that bleed. 
And strive to honor by word and deed 

The faith that we claim to bear. 

Should we note l)y the way as we pass along 
A soul that is straying in paths of wrong — 
Mocked at and jeered by life's hurrying throng 

Shall we coldly pass them by? 
Ah, no ! when perchance a helping hand 
Might lure them back from the sinking sand. 
To the path that leads through a desert land 

To a better home on high. 

There are hearts that are bearing the cross to-day 
That are ready to faint by the thorny way, 
And struggling souls that are longing to lay 
Their wearisome burden down ; 

73 



Day Dreams 

When a word of cheer in the bitter strife 
Might point their souls to tlie bread of Hfe. 
And win through the pathway with dangers rife 
Safe to their promised crown. 



DAY DREAMS. 



I've been dreaming all the morning 

Of my happy childhood days, 
Treading once again in fancy 

All its pleasant sunny ways : 
Climbing once again the hillside. 

Where I sported long ago. 
Picking blue-bells from the meadow 

\\diere the strawberries used to grow. 

Searching once again the tree-tops 

Where the largest nuts were found, 
AVatching awe struck o'er the hillside 

Where the rainbow touched the ground 
Fishing in the meadow rapids 

For the trout, and, bliss supreme. 
Throwing pebbles in the water 

Wading barefoot in the stream. 

Ah ! the long delicious mornings, 
Searching in the new mown hay, 

W'here the hens with thoughtful cunning 
Hid their treasured pearls away; 

74 



Day Dreams 

E'en the jug of water bearing 
To the mowers in the field, 

Had its pleasures, pure and simple. 
Later years can never yield. 

Ah ! the pleasant airy castles 

As the years crept on apace, 
And the downy sign of manhood 

First appeared upon my face; 
Mine should be the steady climbing 

To the highest heights of fame, 
Mine to write in burning letters 

On their walls my deathless name. 

Riches boundless, love undying. 

Should await my beck and call. 
All the world should know and honor 

Fortunes frowns should not appal ; 
Ah ! the airy fairy visions 

Vanishing like woman's tears. 
Frailer than the soapy bubbles. 

Blown in childhood's happy years. 

Long has been the path and thorny. 
That my feet were called to tread, 

Toil and grief have left their traces 
Freely on my silvered head ; 

75 



Da\ Dreams 

Love deceived nie, riches vanished, 
Fame retreated from my g'l'asp, 

All the hopes and dreams of boyhood 
Faded in my eager clasp. 

Nothing now is left but labor. 

And the weary ceaseless strife, 
Money gaining, heart destroying, 

Selfish grasping for this life; 
Nothing left me? yes the dreaming 

Of the happy childhood days, 
And the memory sweet and tender. 

Of its pleasant sunny ways ; 
And the halo still around me 

Of the hopes of other years. 
And the good I can accomplish 

In this life of toil and tears. 



OVER THE WAY. 

Over the way the houses reach 

In a long red row to the crossing street, 

And many a lesson the red bricks teach — 
And many a sermon their high tops preach 
As they frown o'er the myriad passing feet, 

And darken the light of the noon-day sky — 

Darken the day to the passer by. 

76 



Day Dreams 

Over the way when morning light 

Wakens the crash of the hundred mills, 
And the city glows with the welcome sight 
Of life and bustle, while high and bright 

The sun peeps over the eastern hills. 
Then out they swarm from the human hive 
Till the red brick walls seem all alive. 

Over the way I see them go 

Forms that are bent from ceaseless toil, 
Flying footsteps and feet that are slow — 
Forms that are tottering to and fro — 

And faces pale from the midnight oil. 
And I look again with pitying sigh 
At the countless masses passing by. 

Over the way with guilty air. 

One creeps sullenly up and down. 
Till another step up the creeking stair — 
From the window above a baleful glare — 

Tells me the face with sullen frown 
Peers safely forth with an evil eye, 
Down on the throng of passers by. 

Over the way what secrets hide 

Under the eaves of the long red row ? 
The saint and the sinner dwell side by side- 
And innocence blushes while sinful pride. 

Scorning the toiling mass below — 
Decked in the gaudy robes of shame 
Trails in the dust an honored name. 

77 



Da\ Dreams 

Over the way the aching- heart 

Crushed by the struggle for daily bread, 
Ensnared by the fowler's deadly art — 
Forsaketh at last the better part — 

And the starving soul on husks is fed. 
Ah ! the mirthless laugh from the windows high, 
That floats o'er the heads of the passers by. 

Over the way the buildings reach 

In a long red row to the crossing street. 

And what are the lessons the red bricks teach, 

And what are the sermons the high walls preach 
To the throng below with hurrying feet? 

Who careless and cold to the w^ant and sin. 

Pass on unheeded the life within, 

And the dingy walls loom dark and high. 

Hiding the light of the noonday sky. 



OCTOBER. 

October sits on the forest throne 

\\^ith her red lamps trimmed and burning, 

And the leaves on a thousand forest hills 
To scarlet and gold are turning. 

The ripe fruit droops from the orchard boughs, 
With plump cheeks rosy and blushing. 

And red leaves sail with a joyous whirl 
\Vhere the sparkling- stream is rushing. 

78 



Da\ Dreams 

The brown nuts safe in their bursting husks 
With a merry thud are falHng, 

And out from a chmip of alders gray 
The thrush to his mate is caUing. 

Oh, a royal queen is our sovereign month, 

This beautiful grand October, 
When nature arrayed in her grandest robes, 

Discarding her garments sober, 

Sits smiling in crown of flaming leaves 
With her purple sceptre wooing, 

'Till the ripened fruit and falling nuts 
November's storms are brewing. 

And yet there's a dreary undertone 
Through the voice of autumn calling, 

A sobbing breath in each passing breeze, 
For the red leaves softly falling, 

Drift over many a new made grave, 
And eyes that are dim with weeping 

Under the bright October skies 
The loneliest watch are keeping. 

Alas, for the weeping human eyes 

That cannot see the glowing 
Of the scarlet and gold of the autumn woods, 

For the depth of their sorrow knowdng. 

79 



Day Dreams 

Alas for the breaking human hearts 

That cannot see the meaning 
Of the gentle touch of the Father's hand ; 

Who on broken staffs are leaning. 

For sure as the scarlet and gold are traced 

By October's magic fingers, 
Let winter breathe but a chilly blast 

And no touch of beauty lino-ers. 

So our broken props are swept away 
When affliction's winds are blowing, 

And only the feet on the solid rock 
A standard of strength are showing. 



PICTURES IN THE COALS. 

In the glowing embers fairy forms arise, 

Through the changing shadows I watch with swift surprise 

Little mimic life scenes acted o'er again 

While from blazing flashes rise hill and plain. 

Now a little valley with a cottage brown, 

Just without, the turmoil of the busy town; 

I see the swallows building 'neath the mossy eaves 

And the sunlight sifting through the maple leaves, 

And the children playing by the open door, 

But the embers falling, change the scene once more. 

Now a long low school house and a bush-fringed stream, 

Where the glancing minnows through crystal waters gleam; 



Da\ Dreams 

O'er the master singing, beam bluest summer skies. 

And through the reeds and rushes peep roguisli laughing eyes. 

Ah! the falling embers change the scene again, 

Vanished cot and school house, valley hill and plain : 

Xow those glowing figures ranged in groups sedate. 

Are maidens grown to women, boys to man's estate : 

Xo more the childish laughter floating on the breeze. 

No more the hide and seeking 'neath the maple trees ; 

But the firelight gleaming showeth hopes as sweet, 

For without love's finish life were incomplete. 

Comes again ecstatic memory of the bliss, 

\Mien the young lips trembled 'neath a lover's kiss. 

Wdien a dear voice whispered in the willing ear 

All the sweet old story hearts have longed to hear. 

Since the days of Adam blossomed o'er the earth 

And Eve's welcome coming gave to true love birth. 

Ah ! the falling embers rudely break the dream, 

And along the firelight, fantastic shadows gleam; 

Xow the coals are ranging into rank and file 

While on gleaming bayonets the pitying heavens smile. 

Xow the ground is shaking with tread of many feet. 

See, the boys are marching down the village street ; 

Towards the sunny southland march our boys in blue — 

With the blue coats hiding hearts both warm and true. 

Xow the embers ranging in battle's dread array 

Hide with smoke of carnage all the dreadful day; 

There's the horrid cannon belching fire and smoke, 

The nation's outraged honor in tones of thunder spoke ; 

Like grass before the mower the dead and wounded fall — 

See the flames of battle sweeping over all. 

81 



Day Dreams 

Just hea\-en! can no power the brave and noble sa\e? 
Must our hearts be buried in yonder sodden grave? 
Rake the ashes over and hide the horrid sight, 
Quench the last faint flicker of expiring light; 
Would our hearts as easy to forget might learn, 
As the sodden embers cease to flash and burn. 
See that blackened cinder falling from the grate. 
'Tis the dreadful letter tliat told his mournful fate ; 
Arms so strong, protecting, folded now for aye, 
Lips that fondly whispered, only senseless clay. 
Ah ! the dying embers flashing up once more 
Tell with voice prophetic the story o'er and o'er; 
Rake the ashes over, hide the dreadful sight, 
I cannot bear the pictures in the coals tonight. 



THE LAND OF NOD. 

O land where the tide of the years flow back 
And lea\e not a trace of their sorrowTul track. 
Where the soul breaks loose from its binding chain 
And soars through elysian fields again : 
Where we tread once more the paths of youth 
And (|uaft" from the cup of its guileless truth. 
Where life with its paths spread wide before 
Dazzles with rainbow tints once more, 
O beautiful land of Nod. 

82 



Day Drcaius 

O beantifnl land where the birds sing- sweet 
And flowers are blooniing a1)out our feet, 
\A'here all that is fair and good below 
Seem 1;)ut tt^ await us as we go ; 
Wdiere we clasp once more a vanished hand 
That has l^eckoned long- from the l^etter land 
Where we gaze on the faces we used to love 
That the tall rank grass has waved above, . 
C) beautiful land of Nod. 

O enchan.ted land, where the shackdes roll 
From otT the wearied and burdened soul, 
AA'here we wear again youth's vanished grace 
And sport in each well remembered place: 
Where the hopes that faded so long ago 
Adorn our hearts with their vanished glow. 
Ah! the wonderful charm, the balm to pain, 
\A> hml in thy wondrous realm again, 
O beautiful land of Nod. 



WEEDS. 

There's a garden lying adown the street 
That I pass each day with idle feet. 
And I look in vain for the faintest bloom 
To struggle out through the air of gloom 
That hangs over vine and bush and tree. 
But never the faintest bud I see. 

83 



Day Dreams 

When the hills in their robes of g-reen again 
Shone fair and bright through the April rain, 
I saw in the garden, bush and vine 
In riotous grace o'er the trellis twine. 
While down in the frag'rant mold below 
The tender plants in each shining row 
Looked fresh and green, with the promise fair 
That royal fruitage would garner there. 

But a strange neglect has gathered o'er. 
And the hand that planted has pruned no more : 
And noxious weeds with their noisome breath 
Speaking- alone of decay and death. 
Have sprung- into rank and dismal life. 
Choking down and back in vigorous strife 
The tender plants that have tried to rise 
For a view of the pitying summer skies. 

The vines have dropped from the trellis down. 
The bushes have hidden their blushing crown 
And nothing but flaunting weeds I see 
Where richest of blossom and fruit should be; 
Then I say to myself, "oh, this is life. 
The bud and blossom of human strife:" 
\\q plant with a hearty will and hand 
And scatter seed o'er a fruitful land, 

Then oft, alas, for our human needs. 
We garner only a crop of weeds. 
Neither the rain nor the sun above 
Can hasten the growth of human love, 

84 



Day Dreams 

Nor tlie winds that l^low, nor the dews that fal 
Life's faded hopes to our hearts recall. 

1die <QQd that we sow on fruitful land, 

Unless watched and tended with careful hand 

Is choked with the noxious weeds of pride 

Flaunting" \\ ith envy side hy side. 

And malice and spite with noisome l)reath 

Scatter the pestilent seeds of death ; 

And selfishness rears its hydra head 

Over the green and frag-rant l)ed, 

Wdiere first we planted with lo\'ing- care 

On ground unhallowed hy l^reath of prayer. 

Ah, yes. the g-arden I pass each day 

A\'here only the weeds hold royal sway. 

Is only a picture of life to me. 

Where tlie hand that sows for eternity — 

Careless and cold through the golden hours — 

Growing thistles instead of flowers. 

At last in spite of its human needs 

Will o-arner a harvest of onlv weeds. 



he three following poems are dedicated to the G. A. R. 

THE FLAG WE MADE. 

Wdien over our land in the long ago 

The shadow's of war hung dark and low, 

And the cannon's distant, deadly boom. 

Rang through each heart like the knell of doom, 

85 



Day Dreams 

When out from the North and East and West, 
To the folds of the l^anner they loved the hest. 
Flocked our bovs Jn bhie till each quiet street 
Shook with the tread of marching feet. 
And bayonets gleanied in the morning- sun 
That shone on each brightly polished gun. 
And Patriot fire and loyal grace 
Shone out from each bearded and boyish face. 
For never a heart but was brave and true 
Marched out that day in the ranks of blue. 

Then out through the morning's rosy bars. 

The sun shone down on the stripes and stars 

Of the flag we had made with loving care. 

Floating' proudly out on the fragrant air. 

A\'e had stitched the fabric with hopes and fears 

And watered its silken folds with tears. 

And over each seam a prayer was said. 

And woven in with each silken thread : 

The Captain said that "the flag should be 

Their pilot to glorious victory — 

They would guard it safe through the battle's breath. 

Though its fold should wave o'er the gates of death.' 

And we knew from the blue caps swinging high. 

And the cheers that pierced through the summer sky, 

They would keep the promise the Captain made. 

That our banner was safe from the rebel raid. 

Ah! never again was our village street 

To shake with the tread of their marching feet. 

86 



Day Dreams 

We saw them go through a mist of tears. 

And the clays stretched out into months and years, 

Ere the scattered few tliat alone returned 

From the victory so dearly earned, 

Brought back a tattered and blood-stained rag — 

All that was left of our silken flag. 

Its folds had waved o'er the battle plain 

Bathed in the blood of heroes slain. 

It was tattered and torn by shot and shell. 

And oft from its broken staff it fell 

To be waved aloft b}- a loyal hand 

Wdien the thinning ranks could hardly stand. 

Ah ! the Captain's promise was well fulfilled 

By the sacred tide of life-blood spilled. 

Idiere were empty sleeves and crutches and scars. 

With the tattered remnant of stripes and stars. 

And worn and pale from the caps of blue. 

Looked out the faces, alas so FEW, 

But victory perched on the nation's dome. 

And sweet peace settled o'er heart and home. 

And the glad drums beat ami new flags waved 

Over the hearts of a Union saved. 

The Summers and Winters with chang'eless flow 

Have come and gone since that long ago. 

Yet still when passing along the street, 

W^e hear the tread of marching feet. 

And see the companies out on drill. 

Our hearts grow faint with the olden thrill; 

1die coats of the well remembered blue — 

The silken flag with its emblem true, 

87 



Da\ Dreams 

Brings back from the past the g-hostly shade 
Of the silken l^anner that fond hands made. 
And we vaguely wonder if patriot flame 
Burns still on the altar of souls the same. 
And whether the hearts are as loyal and true. 
As those that beat neath the army blue. 
Ah, 3^es ! we know, should the need arise. 
And our country demand the sacrifice. 
There are souls would follow the flag to-day. 
Though sword of carnage should bar the way. 
And never a hand from its staff should tear 
The banner of freedom they proudly bear. 
And so wherever its free folds wave 
It shelters the loval, the true and the brave. 



THE SOLDIERS' RE-UNION. 

Once more from our distant homes we come 
To the stirring music of fife and drum. 
To shake glad hands o'er the gap of years 
That laden with changing hopes and fears. 
Have stretched their length since that long ago 
When we met in the battle's deadly glow. 
The peace that smiles over land and sea. 
The flag above us wdiose folds wave free. 
The scars we have borne for twenty years, 
The crutch that still in our midst appears, 
The patriot flame that our hearts yet thrill. 
Are the tokens by which we are comrades still. 



Dav Dreams 

Yes, comrades still, though the years have flown 
Since we marched to the cannon's deadly tone; 
Though our forms that were straight as the forest tree 
W'hen the bugle called us o'er land and sea. 
Are bowed by the lapse of time to-day, 
And our locks are sprinkled wdth threads of gray, 
Our hearts are as young, and brave and true 
As the day when we donned the army blue. 

The years roll l)ack like a dream once ukm-c, 

As we count the tale of our battles o'er. 

And we live again in the days of gloom 

When the fair earth shook with the cannon's l)oom. 

And we think of the dreary march again. 

Through the summer's sun and the winter's rain. 

Of the nights we have lain on the sodden ground 

With the storm and the tempest gathering 'round; 

Our only cover the midnight sky. 

And the gusts of night wind sweeping by. 

We listen once more to the battle's knell, 

The whistle of shot, the shriek of shell, 

The horrid glare and the fiery breath 

That swept through the open gates of death. 

When our comrades dropped from our very side. 

In the gap that the cannon opened wide — 

The swaths that were mown through the ranks again 

Like the mower's scythe in the ripened grain — 

The dead and dying, the sacred flood 

Of the streams that were red with loyal blood. 

89 



Day Dreams 

When the moon looked down with pitying eye 
On the faces turned to the southern sky. 

From the hours of pain on hospital bed. 

From the horrors of Southern prisons led. 

Battered and scarred with what g'lad release 

We came to the blissful dawai of peace ; 

And to-day we gather from far and near 

To the folds of the banner our hearts hold dear, 

And drop a tear for each comrade brave 

That we left in a far-off southern grave ; 

And for those who stood in our thinning ranks 

And listened with us to a Nation's thanks. 

Who, by watch and labor of long years worn, 

Have fallen like sheaves of ripened corn, 

From battle lields to this peaceful day. 

Their graves are dotting the weary way. 

Comrades, we meet, and proudly o'er head 

Waves the starry banner for which we bled, 

And over our nation sweet peace smiles, 

Xor sword of carnage nor rebel wiles 

Can mar this day while our hearts still glow 

With the patriot fires of long ago. 

And now while our tents are dotting the sward, 

Three cheers for the veterans battered and scarred. 

Wdio meet to talk of the dangers braved, 

And tell the tale of the Union saved. 

Hurrah for the banner of freedom true, 

Hurrah for the faded army blue, 

90 



Day Dreams 

VoY it covered naught l)Ut hearts of oak. 
When the canncMi in tones of thunder spoke. 
And when at last our orders come 
To march to the upper and better home, 
\\'hen the 1)ug-le sounds for the grand review 
And we don our g-arments, white and new, 
When our thinning ranks shah swell again 
With the countless hosts of comrades slain. 
And the Captain above shall call the roll, 
May he find from our ranks NO missing SOUL 
Then we'll hear the welcome words, well done. 
Draw now thy pay for the victory won. 



STORY OF THE TRAMP. 

Cold vittles if you please. Sir, most anything'll do, 

For ''beggars musnt be choosers", is a story old and true. 

But 1 think a cup of milk now would suit my case jist right. 

For Fm kind er faint this mornin', from sleepin' out last night. 

Yes, the nights is gittin' frosty, an' I must ha' took a dull 

For' I laid in that old stable down yonder by the hill. 

No, I couldn't do no better, for no one would have me near. 

They all seem kind o' skeery of tramps this time o' year. 

Well, I can't say that I blame 'em, but I never thought in camp 

That' Fd live through all them battles to turn a reg'lar tramp. 

'Tn the army?" Why yes, of course. Sir, I served three year 

an' more, 
Before I got the wound here that laid me on the floor. 

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Da\ Dreams 

I had many a wound l^efore tliat Init always soon got out 
And done my country service, of that I have no doubt ; 
But this 'ere wound I speak of was the closest call of all. 
And the comrade that stood by me when he saw^ me take that fall 
From the breast-work we was scalin' with the bullet in me square 
Never thought to see me breathin'. when he found me layin' 

there. 
"I^ake a chair?" Why yes I will Sir, and tell ye all the rest, ' 
Of the time I've had a livin' with this Inillet in my breast, 
ddiough its been many a year Sir, for the vears do somehow 

roll. 
Since I've said a word about it to anv li\'in' soul. 
But somehow you seem so pleasant and so uncon.imon kind 
.Vnd it ain't so very often that a friend I chance to find. 
And so I don't mind tellin,' though there ain't so much to tell 
And my life ain't been so pleasant that its nice on it to dwell. 
Idien, I feel so faint this mornin' that perhaps my time has 

come. 
And I shant be sorry, stranger, when the Captain calls me home. 
For I've wandered — let me see, sir, nigh on ten vears or more, 
Since I've felt a hearty welcome inside of any door; 
But I'll start at the beginnin' and tell you how^ it come 
That I started out a tramping- without family or home. 
It is fifteen years I reckon, though it may be more or less. 
Since I 'listed for the war, and 'twas hard to go I guess, 
For I had only Ijeen married a few short months before — 
The sweetest girl that one could find to search the country o'r. 
I had l;)een an orphan always since a little chap knee-high. 
But had learned a paying trade, and had laid a snug sum by, 

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Day Dreams 

So that wlien I married Mary T had a plenty casli 

To furnisli us a snug- home, though we chchi't cut a dash. 

T was straight and strong in them days, and had friends in 

plenty, too. 
And we (hdn't want for nothin' for I found enough tc do. 
And 1 tell you we was happy, my darling wife and I, 
The days and weeks and months, too, seemed jest a slippin' 

by 
'Till the war broke out, then stranger I couldn't he content 
To stay at home a waitin' while weaker men all went ; 
My father'd been a soldier in Revolution days. 
And I felt the lire a burning in heart and brain always. 
And I seemed to see them Rebels a tearin' down that flag — 
'Till my blood it boiled within me and a strong chain seemed 

to drag 
My spirit toward them 1)attles, and I long'ed each day to start, 
'Till Mary she consented though it almost broke her heart. 
So I kissed my wife and left her; left her faintin' still and white, 
h^or I heard my country call in,' callin' to me day and night. 
Then each week I got long letters full of fond words as could 

be— 
And 'twas wonderful how cheering all them letters was to me. 
Now the saddest part is comin' of the story you will hear. 
And I almost dread to tell it, for it wasn't half a year 
\\ hen somebody wrote and told me that my wife had gone to 

rest, 
And was sleepin' in the church yard with her baby on her 

breast, 
Sleepin' cjuiet in the church yard with the babe I'd never seen. 
And 'twas like a stroke of lightning for it cut so sharp and keen : 

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Day Dreams 

Then the trouble kind o' dazed me and I didn't seem to care, 
And wherever fight was thickest, they would always find me 

there ; 
Always hopin' that some bullet would go crashing through my 

brain. 
But the bullets seemed to shun me, only wounding me in vain. 
So I lived until the battle when that Rebel trap was sprung 
And I fell from scalin' breastworks with a bullet in my lung. 
After that long sufferin' summer wdien they shipped me off for 

home. 
And I found no wife to welcome, no one glad to see me come, 
Then I only laid a minute on the bed where Mary died, 
And kissed the cold ground that was keepin' all I cared for 

from my side, 
Then I gave the house to Mary's mother and started out to 

work. 
For though I felt the bullet gnawin' still I didn't want to shirk, 
But I alwavs kep' so feeble with the lameness in my side 
That my workin' days was over, and went with them all my 

pride. 
Then awhile I took to drinkin', God forgive, 'twasn't long. 
My money gone I went to trampin', livin' on the merest song. 
'Tension?" Yes, I draw it reg'lar, but never used a cent I vow. 
Send it all to Mary's mother, she's nothin' else to live on now. 
And she's gettin' old and feeble, neither daughter left nor son. 
And I couldn't use a shillin' for there aint too much for one. 
Thank you stranger, ])ut I'm thinkin' that I won't need nothing 

more, 
For I feel somehow this mornin' is bringin' me straight to the 

shore. 

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Day Dreams 

I'm sorry that I've been so worthless, and hved so many years 

in vain, 
I feel uncommon faint and feeble, but I don't have any pain. 
No more trampin' o'er the highway, no more sleepin' out at 

night, 
For the land that's draw in' nigh me, looks uncommon fair and 

bright. 
Hark ! is that the bugle callin' ? I hear the troops a marchin' by. 
Yes I'm comin', comin' comrades, why its only ])liss to die. 
There is Mary, don't you see her? with her baby on her breast. 
She is smilin', beckonin' to me. Ah, thank God I'm findin' rest. 



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my 221909 



NOV 22 1909 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 873 705 A 




